Westword Music Showcase.

The whole place is saturated with young people. And the music is very loud around the entire neighborhood. The double windows cannot block it out. Completely shut out, the walls still vibrate with muffled sound. This shot is off my terrace. There is another similar stage set up one block beyond, and in the opposite direction across Broadway all of the music clubs in a row also have band lineups scheduled throughout the day and night with large crowds of people in front of them. How music enthusiasts decide which club to go or which outdoor stage to check out is beyond me. The band schedules are posted outside each place but visitors must walk around the whole area to know where their favorite bands are playing. I do not know where all these people get their information. Westword website is not that helpful. To me.

Westword itself is two blocks down the street.

They give us free tickets here for our whole building to compensate for the intrusion, and that really is worth something. But I did not partake them. I love the place crawling with young people. I do. Crawling is not a good word to use. They're all much faster than I am. On the sidewalk they all pass me right up. They pour around me actually. I'm in their way but they manage me as easy obstruction. But wherever they're stopped and we chat, to a person they're kind and considerate and respectful. Not at all what you read online about them. Not one bit.

Want to hear something incidental, if not actually amusing?

While striking out away from the festival to score a sandwich from Tony's and to buy a few things for an heterodox pizza, pineapple and ham, jalapeño, very rich cheese and such, along the way two men who were not youngsters stopped me walking in the opposite direction. One of them said, 

"Thanks for the bulbs."

He pointed to my crotch. This confused me greatly.

This happened by chance directly in front of the dank dark gay bar. Their door was opened with people standing outside. All the businesses did this. All the businesses are loaded with people sitting and chatting outside of them. Last year at this same time at this same spot I heard one of the men sitting on a stool outside behind me say, "I like those green jeans." He was not talking to me. I had passed them so I ignored the remark and kept walking.

And I had another pair of green jeans on today as well. And today a strange man thanks me for my bulbs. While pointing at the top of my legs. And I'm thinking, "Knock it off already you homos." On account of that bar and the previous incident. And on account of the two men looking like friends. It's all complimentary and nothing to be concerned about, but come on.

"Bulbs?"

"You gave me caladium bulbs. Remember? I live in your building. Thank you for those. Mine haven't sprouted yet. Did you plant the same things? Have your bulbs grown?" 

"They've only just started."

I didn't recognize him. I didn't even see him when I left the bag at his door a few weeks ago. I left the bag of tubers at his door as I did with several others, along with a note explaining what they are and where to get information on them if they wanted. I chose apartments whose residents were attempting gardens. That's all.

He had a few questions about the plants assuming I'm expert, when I'm not. I don't know anything about any of that. As you know it's all an experiment. I'm pleased, though, he's the fifth person who's said something like "I don't have a green thumb like you do." Where nothing can be more far from the truth. I flatly don't know what I'm doing. And anything that works is by mistake and despite my ignorance and carelessness and mistakes.

And many other nice conversations all along the way. People really are charming. And they're not high either as you'd expect, this being Colorado and this being a music festival. The assumptions made based on our controversial laws are wrong. This music festival disproves them.